12-20-13 - The Big Nowhere

Quartzite is a barely on the map speck, a few houses and some small shops. We shot off into the desert nearby, on a road that was hardly a road, rough tire tracks in a sea of gravel and short bushes. All around us were stunningly huge rock formations straight out of a Western movie poster. Far, far off in the distance we could make out the white dots of small RV villages, most of them retirees who had come out to the desert for the winter. They do what is called "boondocking", which means camping without water or electrical connections. Many of them have solar panels, huge water tanks, and everything from flowered pop-up pagodas to small SUV's in tow. We feel small in Charlie, small in comparison to their wallowing leviathan bulk, small in comparison to the silent rock pillars that stand watch, small in comparison to the desert's unyielding harsh expanse.

Everything here is purpose built, from the smallest sprout hidden in the rocks to the pin-straight Seguaro cacti that stand over 8' tall. Nearly every plant defends it's life jealously. Some are coated in deceptively fine hair-like needles that stick in your skin and work deeper and deeper the more you worry at them. The large cacti have rows and columns of sewing needle sized spikes that curl cruelly at the ends to hook any careless passerby. Even harmless looking green shrubs that cast the only shade to be seen for miles hide a cruel secret, wickedly barbed spikes hidden perfectly by their delicate silvery green leaves. The heat parches and the rain floods, leaving a cracked and surreal landscape, a paradox of life and lifelessness. I find myself literally floored, pressed down to the earth by the weight of my own survival and the heavy gray clouds that roll in above. There is little room for mercy or errors out here in The Big Nowhere

We went for a short walk to an abandoned shack we spotted from camp. It's two small buildings, hand built. The insulation in the thick walls is made of empty glass beer bottles, covered in plaster and desert rocks on both sides. The windows and door frames, both of which are now empty, are lined with large quartz stones. The walls themselves have been made of large chunks of pink granite, green stone, quartz, and grey rock. It's strangely festive, although empty. Out back we found a small grave with two sticks tied together as a headstone. We debated for a while whether it's real or simply symbolic, and couldn't seem to pin down an answer. While we walked back to the van, I stopped and started playing cactus needles like one of those African finger instruments. The sound is uncannily similar.

Darkness fell abruptly and we could see huge flashes and beams of lightning breaking in the distance, backlighting a rock feature far off in the distance. We slept fitfully that night, worried the storm might approach and spark a wildfire. It started raining hard in the middle of the night, and I layed awake and listened to it splatter and drip off the roof of the van. I tried my best to stay away but fell asleep quickly, promising myself to wake up if I heard the running water of a flash flood.

Luckily, we did not get toasted by a fire or rinsed away like so much trash by a flash flood. We ate a leisurely hot breakfast and let ourselves be warmed by the sun, ready for another day, another adventure.